The Krasniqi Bride

3: The Cage Opens

Liridona's POV

The SUV stops in front of the mansion. Cold mountain air rushes through the open door. The scent of pine fills my nose. Stone and mist mix with it. The courtyard fountain glows blue-white under lights. Water arcs high. Wolves carved in stone circle the marble basin. Their eyes stare out, sharp and hungry.

Valon steps out first. He grips my arm again firmly. His warm fingers close around my skin. He pulls me out and my legs feel weak, numb from the ties and also from fear. I stumble but steadies me.

I do not understand why he is pretending to be good. The whole of Kosovo knows he is very far from good. He should have just let me fall

What game does he think he is playing? Bastard.

I glare up with my good eye but it has no effect on him. Instead, the jerk smiled.

He guides me forward but his grip remains. We walk toward the entrance with the gravel crunching under our feet. The mansion rises.

Stone walls round the house. It has lit windows which are high and solid. It looks like a fortress not a home. No, it is a fortress. Who the heck lives in a secluded area?

The double doors open. I see something carved with wood on the doors, it looks like an emblem. The Krasniqi emblem. A wolf head with a dagger through its throat.

An old man stands there, looking like he is in his sixties. He has silver hair and his face line is deep. Looking at the crisp black uniform he is putting on, I think he is the butler.

He stares at me, looking at the zip-ties, my eyepatch and my wet clothes. Suspicion fills his eyes. I too would be suspicious of me.

“Ilir.” I hear Valon say.

“Who is she, sir?” he asks, quietly and politely.

It is surprising that everyone I have seen so far in this fortress called home looks at Valon with respect. What is so great about him except him paying their bills.

Valon answers casually.

“My wife.”

His what??

I scream at once.

“I have not accepted anything!”

My voice echoes off the stone.

Valon leans close. “You do not have a choice, dear”

He straightens and smirks again.

That damn smirk of his, I want to wipe it off his face.

Ilir nods and steps outside.

Why is no one questioning him?? Just because he is the boss?? Do they not have any morality?? Well I guess they do not, they are the Mafia anyway.

We enter and warmth hits me immediately. Fireplaces burn low. Woodsmoke floats. Leather polish scent mixes with coffee from somewhere deep inside.

Valon does not stop. He guides me through the halls. My arm stays in his grip.

We reach the guest wing at a separate corridor, the door is guarded by a man in black who nods to Valon.

The door opens.

My sister, Diellza, sits on the bed. She looks so small. She lifts her head and her eyes went wide . She is scared.

She jumps up and runs to me, hugging me hard.

I cannot hug her back because my hands are tied. I press my cheek to her hair. She smells like home. Strawberry shampoo.

“Liri, what is happening?” Her voice breaks; small and shaky.

I whisper fiercely.

“I will protect you. No matter what. I swear on our parents grave.”

She clings to me tighter.

Valon stands in the doorway, watching us silently. I need to be careful with him. I cannot even get angry at him properly because I was the one who infiltrated his territory. And I am sure my client is not coming to save me.

I glare at him over her head. He has that smirk of his on his face again.

He steps forward. Gentle but firm.

“Enough.”

He pulls me away.

Diellza reaches for me, tears falling from her eyes.

I mouth: “I will come back.”

Valon closes the door.

We walk again.

He takes me to a suite. It is a big room, with a bed adorned with white sheets. Its windows are barred, disguised as decor. Mirror, wardrobe and bathroom are attached.

He shuts the door and locks it.

“You need to prepare,” he says calmly.

I wanted to ask him to prepare for what but there was no need to act stupid since I know what he is on about.

I shake my head but as usual, he ignores me.

He cuts the zip-ties with a knife from his pocket and points to the bathroom.

“Go and shower, then dress. And by the way, it is an order not a request.”

I stare at him.

He crosses his arms and leans against the door, daring me to defile him.

“I will wait here.”

I feel heat rise in my face. I walk to the bathroom making sure to slam the door to portray my anger.

After some minutes, I step out with a towel around me. He was truly waiting.

A dress hangs on the wardrobe door. White, simple and elegant. Its sleeves are long and the neck high.

He nods toward it. “Put it on. I am not leaving.”

I drop the towel. He stares at me with his eyes moving over me in a possessive way. I feel so exposed and vulnerable.

I grab the dress and quickly pull it over my head.

It fits perfectly. Too perfect.

I turn to the mirror. I look like a bride but I feel like a prisoner.

He steps behind me. His reflection shows him tall, in a dark suit. When did he get dressed?

I looked back at the mirror and his mismatched eyes locked on mine in the glass.

“Beautiful,” he utters. I spin sharply.

“Prison,” I snap.

He smirks. He then take my hand and lead me out.

We walk toward a building I later recognized to be a chapel. Who the hell owns a chapel in their home?